


Kill Me With Kindness

by bookwyrmling



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Instability, My Fuji always ends up so dark, Sexual Content, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 03:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6735832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwyrmling/pseuds/bookwyrmling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were days Fuji Syusuke smiled and Takashi could swear it chased the clouds away.  There were days, however, when Fuji Syusuke was the tempest, the very maelstrom that could demolish a city and destroy lives, including his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kill Me With Kindness

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the Kindness Pair (Kawamura Takashi/Fuji Syusuke) Week as part of the TeniPuri Shipping Weeks on Tumblr. The prompt used was the extra prompt: "Angel of Mercy" by Foghat. The title also comes from the song's lyrics.

“Takashi, harder.”

It is a command. Syusuke’s nails dig into Takashi’s back and leave depressed crescent origins to trails of red, raised welts along the sushi chef’s shoulders. “Syusuke,” Takashi whispers through a grunt of pain in response, running a hand up the back of the alabaster thigh wrapped around his hips and spurring him to action. He places a delicate kiss on the shell of his lover’s ear, the lobe, his jaw. Lips brush down his neck and Syusuke arches and shivers. Takashi finally slides in to the hilt and Syusuke moans, his arms falling down across his eyes, nails biting into his palms because this isn’t what he wants.

“Takashi!”

It’s a rebuke this time, followed with a rough roll of his hips that a carefully placed hand stills. “Syusuke.” The name is breathed against his shoulder. Takashi reaches up and kisses his forehead, his nose, his cheek and Syusuke sobs.

This isn’t what he deserves.

It is always days like these that Takashi handles him with the most delicacy. Days when Syusuke comes storming home only to drop his bag with a shaking hand. Days when he pulls Takashi in for a bruising kiss even before, “I’m home,” has left his lips. Days when things don’t just progress naturally, but Syusuke, instead, pulls away and demands, “Fuck me.”

Takashi does not smile. Syusuke refuses to look him in the eye.

“I love you,” Takashi murmurs into his hair. Syusuke looks away and buries his face in the pillow even as Takashi begins to move. The pillow can’t hide Syusuke’s moans, just as it can’t block each of Takashi’s murmurs of devotion, but it does soak up the tears. Takashi wraps his hand around Syusuke’s erection and Syusuke gasps a broken sob and pulls the pillow even tighter against his face. He’s suffocating and it is only half because of the pillow, but at least Takashi might think it’s from pleasure.

“Syusuke.” Takashi’s forehead leans down and rests on Syusuke’s head, his lips brush against the shell of his ear and his voice is ragged and pained and Syusuke clenches the pillow even tighter, fingers twisting into fabric and down as his mouth opens into a silent scream.

He can’t breathe. _Kill me,_ he begs in his head, _Just end this._ He learned after the first time to never say those words aloud.

“Syusuke,” Takashi pleads and Fuji’s entire body shudders and he chokes back a sob. He was dying, right here, right now, and it was all Takashi’s fault.

“Syusuke, please, look at me.” There is a prick of cold, a drop that hits his heated jaw and then runs down his neck and Syusuke does not remember making the conscious decision to finally pull away the pillow, but when he opens his eyes, he is looking up and tears are rolling down the sides of his face to his hairline and Takashi is smiling down at him like he is so proud and he is crying, too, and Syusuke’s chest seizes.

It is beautiful and devastating all at once, this mirrored suffering – and even his personal agony cannot stop the artist in him from that recognition – but Takashi does not deserve it. More than anyone, Takashi does not deserve this pain Syusuke forever causes him. “Why?” he croaks, his legs beginning to shake and clench around Takashi’s torturous, slow attentions. He reaches his hands up to brush at the tears he knows are there even as his vision begins to blur and Takashi turns his head to kiss his palm.

“I love you,” Takashi murmurs against his trembling fingers and Syusuke knows what was said even if he could not hear it. He cries out as the physical and emotional coil tightens in his gut and he clutches Takashi’s shoulder and neck, dragging the man down. “Takashi,” he pleads as his head falls back and eyes slide shut and all he can do is feel. Takashi is within him, around him and when Syusuke breathes, Takashi’s spice and sweat washes over him and Fuji is not just suffocating, he’s drowning – long and slow and euphoric – and Takashi’s heavy breath puffs against the shoulder he licks and the forehead he kisses. His strained moan reverberates against the flushed, damp neck he nuzzles. “Syusuke,” he groans and mewls his response to each of the other man’s pleading cries, nails once more digging into flesh.

“Syusuke. Syusuke, Syusuke _Syusuke._ ”

And then Syusuke is falling over the edge and coming in Takashi’s hand and calling out for him and Takashi willingly, happily falls with him, attacking Syusuke’s face with kisses and murmurs of his name and I love yous as their bodies shudder and succumb.

Takashi rolls the both of them on to their sides and Syusuke’s world is fuzzy on the edges, but he can breathe again and he is crying because he can feel just how much Takashi loves him every time he calls his name and that very sound is what both kills and saves him each time he hears it.

In the following silence of slowly evening breaths and sniffles, Takashi wipes his hands off and reaches out to wipe the tears and snot from Syusuke’s face until Syusuke laughs.

“How ugly is my face right now?” he asks with a hoarse voice and Takashi smiles before leaning in for a chaste kiss, reverent and innocent as if they were not still covered in the sweat of their earlier exertions and Syusuke’s very soul quakes at the worshipful press of Takashi’s lips against his own. “As beautiful as always,” Takashi swears before kissing his nose, his forehead – Syusuke’s hands close around his face and pull Takashi back to his lips.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers against them before burying his face into Takashi’s chest.

Takashi’s arms tighten around his slighter form as he presses a kiss to his head. “Syusuke,” he whispers and it is a prayer, a dedication that threatens to pull those tears out once more, “I love you, Syusuke. You are so amazing.” Syusuke knows he really isn’t. He’s not the genius everyone declares, he’s not perfection in any way shape or form. He is a fraud. But Takashi makes him want to be; Takashi makes him want to try. “And, if you can’t see it, I’ll show you,” Takashi continues to murmur against his head, running a broad, callused hand up and down his back, lulling him to sleep, “I’ll spend my whole life showing you just how worthy of love you are.” And Syusuke is reminded, once more, that, even when he fails, Takashi will always be there to help him pick up the pieces and try again.


End file.
